The Voyage of Dawn Treader
by elecktrum
Summary: At the end of a day of sailing, King Edmund tells the tale as to why Caspian's ship bears the name of Dawn Treader.
1. Sunset

**The Voyage of Dawn Treader**

by elecktrum

A/N: I'm taking great license with astronomy and the motions of the heavenly bodies in Narnia in this story. All mistakes, inaccuracies, and gaping flaws in my total lack of research are mine and mine alone. This story was inspired by the lunar eclipse of August 2007, which left me awed at the sheer beauty of the skies. Enjoy.

**Part One: Sunset**

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The sun was dipping low on the western horizon and the evening breeze that filled the _Dawn Treader'_s sail sped the small ship along at a measured pace that was neither so fast that one had to watch their footing nor so slow as to make the heat of a long, hot day bothersome. It was a perfect end to a perfect day of sailing on a gentle sea, made all the better by the change that had occurred in my cousin since we departed Dragon Island.

Since Aslan had freed him not only of his dragon form, but also of the worst aspects of his upbringing, Eustace Clarence Scrubb had turned from a nosy, obnoxious prat with no imagination or regard for the people around to someone who was genuinely trying to learn how to care and be a decent chap. I found I rather liked this revised version of my cousin. Eustace had a sharp mind and an unfortunate name and I was willing to go any length to help him in his quest to be pleasing company for the first time in his life. It was a quest I had taken once myself, and so I gladly took pains to smooth his path, just as Peter had done for me all those years ago.

Reepicheep had lately given Eustace several lessons in the game of chess. The good Mouse was a renowned fighter, but when it came to chess he was quite a romantic player, risking all on wild gambits and rarely thinking far enough ahead to come up with a decent strategy. He was a knight, a tactician, living and fighting in the moment, and he played chess in a similar fashion. I knew that Eustace, who had an understated passion for science, would quickly see the mathematical possibilities of the game and shape into a decent player. We were playing then, and drinking watered wine, and I was scaling back my game so as not to frighten my cousin away or trigger a storm of foul temper. I remembered well how awful it was to lose every game, which I had done for about five years straight, and so I was willing to sacrifice some of my dignity to keep Eustace in a good humor.

"The ship's tail is incorrect," Eustace said abruptly.

I looked up with a small, "Hmm?" If he was trying to divert my attention it wouldn't work well. I had played against some formidable opponents in the past and not even Ettin Giants could distract me from my game. That didn't seem to be the case because he was looking past me and past Drinian by the tiller. I turned, following his gaze to the looped dragon's tail of carved wood decorating the stern of the _Dawn Treader_.

"The ship's tail," he repeated. "It's anatomically impossible. I never could have done that when I had a tail."

Lucy was approaching with more wine for us and Reepicheep was close beside her. She heard our cousin's comment. It was as close to a joke as we had ever heard out of Eustace and the fact that he was willing to make light of having been turned into a dragon made us both laugh aloud. He frowned and I realized he had been serious, but upon reflection he didn't grow cross or insulted, praise be to the Lion, but slowly smiled as he realized his comment _had_ been rather amusing.

"Actually," I said, moving my knight so that Eustace couldn't help but capture my herald, "Dawn Treader, the _real_ Dawn Treader, probably could have."

Lucy nodded. "But he didn't have wings."

"He had antlers," I said to distract Reepicheep from commenting on my deliberate attempts to lose.

"Hold on, Edmund," chirped Eustace, capturing my herald as planned. He set the piece aside before asking, "Are you saying Dawn Treader was the name of a person?"

Lucy was smiling at the secret we shared. "Not a person, Eustace. Dawn Treader was a Dragon."

"And not just any kind of dragon," I added, setting myself up to lose a pawn. "Not a wyrm or a drake or even a salamander. Dawn Treader was - _is _- the Celestial Dragon. He is the messenger of the Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea."

"You _met_ him?"

At this breathless exclamation we all looked up to see Caspian had joined us as well. Narnia's king had wide eyes and his face betrayed his astonishment. It was evident he recognized the name beyond this spry little ship he commanded.

"He came to Cair Paravel," I replied, and Caspian sighed in awe, looking at us with renewed respect. Lucy and I weren't just the stuff of legends, we were the embodiment of history and mythology in the land where we had reigned and I had just added another layer to our legacy.

Reepicheep's ears and whiskers were well forward as he drank in this lore, looking between Narnia's past and present, and, if he could have known it, her future. His dark eyes glittered at the mention of an adventure, he eagerly piped, "Just King, Valiant Queen, I beg that Your Majesties share this tale with us! Why, the very ship hums in delight to know the history of its own worthy name!"

I smirked at his exaggeration, but his desire was clear: Reepicheep longed to hear this story.

"There was no sword fighting, Master Mouse, and very little excitement," I warned. Upon reflection I felt compelled to add, "It was actually rather sad."

A tale of tragedy and sorrow was enough to capture the Mouse's imagination utterly and he sat down beside Eustace, curling his tail around his pink feet, waiting. Caspian also drew closer, fetching a stool for Lucy to sit on while he sat on the deck with the rest of us.

"Glenstorm said the night that Dawn Treader arrived was the only time in history that Narnia has had a lunar eclipse," said Caspian, no less eager than the Mouse.

"It was," I said. "We have to be glad of that."

"How can there be no lunar eclipses?" quizzed Eustace, our game of chess forgotten.

There would be no escaping Eustace puzzling over the scientific aspects of the story. I barely understood the discipline behind it myself, and I had been taught by the wisest of a wise people. I didn't want to get into the motion of the heavenly bodies around a flat world. It had little to do with the story anyway, as it was something I could comprehend but not explain to satisfaction. When heavenly bodies had minds of their own the accepted laws Eustace held dear could not be enforced.

"The spheres move differently in Narnia than in Spare Oom, Eustace. Suffice to say they only have solar eclipses. Lu, maybe you should tell it," I suggested. "You're a better story teller than I am. I'll start talking like a judge and put everyone to sleep."

Lucy smiled knowingly. "You're very good at speaking, Ed. I'll help you."

"All right." I nodded my agreement and began. "It was the fifth year of our reign -"

"Fourth," Lucy corrected.

"Fifth."

"The fourth, surely!"

"Fifth. It was the year following the Ogre invasion. Remember? Methalain crushed Peter for his seventeenth birthday?"

Lucy shuddered at the memory, ceding me the victory. Reepicheep tensed in renewed excitement and I automatically knew what tomorrow night's entertainment would consist of. Then again, story telling was not exactly an unpleasant way to spend an evening. I noticed that Drinian and a few other sailors within earshot had grown rather quiet, listening in on the tale. It occurred to me that they most likely would know nothing of the nature of the universe around them. Deliberately, I raised my voice a bit so they could hear me better. I began anew, calling to mind the way the scholars in Cair Paravel used to write history as to make it even more interesting than anything that could be made up.

"So," I said, beginning the tale in accordance to the classical Narnian tradition. Great speaking, as the poets used to say. It was so easy, so comfortable to slip back into the courtly mode of speech that was more familiar to me than the speech of a schoolboy from Finchley. I looked past the immediate circle to address the listening sailors. "Listen well, ye men of Narnia, and you, good my cousin, and you, dear and loyal friends. It was the fourteenth day in the month of Fairdawn in the year 1004 that the Celestial Dragon, Dawn Treader, the Sun Grazer, the Sky Walker, and the Storm-Bringer by name and title, came from Over Sea to the Palace of the Four Thrones. It was a stifling hot night in early summer . . ."


	2. Aurora

**Part Two: Aurora**

_A/N: My thanks to Cammy for the picture of Dawn Treader! The link to her drawing is listed in my profile for anyone that would like to see._

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It was a stifling hot night in early summer and we and a handful of courtiers were relaxing on the garden balcony overlooking the Eastern Sea. There were almost no breezes and a haze of humidity hung low on the horizon. Overhead the stars were brilliant and white and the full, ivory moon cast a long reflection across the ocean. We lounged about happily, sipping sweet mead and talking with Cheroom, the court astronomer and my tutor, and General Oreius, Cheroom's great-nephew. The old Centaur was particularly anxious to see one of the stars, Proxena by name, because according to reports from other star gazers in the area it was behaving oddly. The past few nights had been cloudy, frustrating their efforts to observe this wonder for themselves.

Now before relating anything more of this tale I must explain something to those of you who are unfamiliar with the skies above this land of Narnia. Just as with the land and the seas and possibly even beneath the earth, the dome above Narnia is inhabited by living, intelligent beings: the Moon, the Sun, the Stars, and the Planets. They are not lifeless bodies as on other worlds. Aslan created the Sun and Moon on that first day he called Narnia into being and set them in motion across the sky. From the moment they were aware the Sun and Moon were in love, and the Moon gave birth to thousands of children as white and cool as she and as shining and brilliant as their father.

And these children danced and sang as they moved across the heavens, a beautiful song of praise and love to Aslan for giving them such devoted parents and the whole dark expanse of the night where they lived and grew under their mother's watchful eyes. They watch the earth and the oceans just as we watch them, counting the lights below and naming them just as they have been named. Their motions and dance cause the winds, which cause the waves, which move the oceans and give the earth its pulse.

So this clear summer night we waited to see Proxena in her glory step over the horizon and join the dance as she had done every night for more than a millennium. I remember Cheroom, my teacher, so anxious and excited, my brother the High King and my sisters the queens interested for the sake of science and seeing something new. I was very curious, because Cheroom and I had explored the library and nowhere could we find any record of a star doing anything but shining and moving across the sky on a set path.

"How long until Proxena rises?" wondered Lucy, fighting a yawn. She was sharing a long couch with Susan, sitting still for once as Susan undid Lucy's auburn hair from its intricate braids.

"Another hour or so, Lu," Peter replied. "Think you'll make it?"

She yawned in earnest this time. "I'll try. I would like to see it."

"Ed said that the stars don't change," Susan said, running her fingers through Lucy's hair to smooth it. "Do you think there could be something wrong, Cheroom?"

"I may be able to tell you more when I see the change with mine own eyes, Majesty," said the Centaur.

"What differences have been reported?" wondered Peter, looking to the Centaurs.

"She does not shine as brilliantly," said Oreius. "And her motions seem to have slowed."

"How do you know Proxena is a she?"

Oreius smiled. "History tells us that the Sun, upon becoming a father, sent the Moon Dog, Sterno, to Narnia to announce the birth of his children. There were so many of them that it took Sterno three days to tell all their names."

Peter laughed but did not question Oreius' tale since we had all seen the Moon Dog's milky-white path in a halo around the moon. I myself had seen the Sun Dogs as well, and I had found that very story in an astronomy book.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

_"Hold on!" exclaimed Eustace, fit to burst with inquisitiveness. I was amazed he'd made it so far without interrupting. "You're saying the sun and moon keep _dogs_?" _

_"Yes," Lucy replied, "hounds. The sun has three and the moon has one. We met them. Now shush. Do go on, Ed." _

_"But -" _

_"Shhh!" insisted Lucy and our cousin settled down. _

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

The hour passed in pleasant conversation, but when it came time for Proxena to rise we all fell silent and gathered along the balcony's wide railing. We strained our eyes on the horizon, but Proxena did not take her place in the sky. Finally, very late and very dim, we saw a glimmer. Slowly, well behind her siblings, she stepped above the rim of the Eastern Sea. Gone was her brilliant white light, replaced by a sickly, yellowish tint.

"By the Lion, what could be wrong?" worried Susan, looking to Cheroom for answers.

The old Centaur shook his head. "I . . . I do not know, my queen. This is most distressing."

For a long while we stared in silence, no once certain of what to say, when suddenly there was a flash of white around the ailing star, then it faded back to dim yellow. Something had changed, though, and we all saw it. There was something more in the sky. It was not a shooting star (which are not stars at all but the spears the stars use when hunting) but it was as bright as one. It did not fade or arc down to the earth. Rather it seemed to move towards us in a weaving path, like a snake gliding through grass.

"A comet?" suggested Peter, sounding skeptical of his own suggestion.

I shook my head. That object was no comet, though it seemed to have a tail. "It's too small for that," I said, "and it's not following the sky. It's moving across the sea."

"Could it be dangerous?" wondered Susan nervously.

Peter shrugged, not helping at all when he said, "We'll find out when it gets here."

I hoped she didn't get the notion in her head that Lucy and I should be sent away for our own safety. This was an event not to be missed. I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for Susan since the rest of us rarely shared her reactions. She was a very sensible and Peter and I were a constant source of worry with our reckless behavior and regular injuries.

The light was growing larger and larger as it drew closer. It was no longer entirely white, but shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. The tail I had noted spread out behind it like a wide ribbon, slowly fading to darkness.

"It's very beautiful," murmured Lucy.

"La," agreed Peter. "I say, Ed, Cheroom, could this be an aurora?"

"But it's summer," was the best I could do for an answer. Still, an aurora was a better fit for it than a shooting star or a comet. "If it's an aurora, it's one with a purpose."

The truth of my words became more evident each passing moment as the ribbon of light wove its way over the wide ocean, reflecting on the smooth water. We watched in rapt fascination, losing all track of time as the dancing light filled more and more of the sky. Very soon it was evident that it was headed for Narnia, and soon after that it was clear that Cair Paravel was its target.

"Majesties?" Oreius whispered to me and Peter, checking to see if we wanted any action taken.

"Alert the palace guard, General, but no more," said Peter. I was relieved that no alarm was to be raised. "We'll wait and see how this plays out."

The aurora was close enough that we could hear an odd, humming sound accompanied the wavering colors. There was something within the light, something long and thin and sinuous, and all at once I realized that it was not part of the aurora, but the aurora was part of it. This thing, this creature or force, glowed with this gorgeous light and energy.

Faint sounds behind us drew my attention and I saw several of the palace guards - several very large palace guards - quietly joined us on the balcony. I smiled. Oreius, bless him, would take no chances.

Then the aurora seemed to shrink. What had been wide and bright enough to fill half the sky gradually reduced down in size, growing whiter and brighter as the colors were condensed. The humming grew deeper and louder until it sounded almost like voices in harmony. Closer and brighter and faster, more intense each second until we were dazzled and the eastern side of Cair Paravel was cast into white sunlight that altered all colors and made the shadows stand out in stark relief. With startled cries we fell back a few steps and then -

Silence. I lowered my arms from my face as people recovered. The first thing I saw was Peter, and he was staring in wide-eyed awe. I followed his stare and took another step back.

There was a Dragon standing on the railing.

Now there were many illuminated books in the library of Cair Paravel dealing with Dragons and even several depicted in the stained glass windows in the Great Hall, but what Narnians call Dragons were nothing like this creature. In Narnia, Dragons were once men whose nastiness and greed made them hoard riches until their very selfishness turns them into wyrms. They are not particularly bright creatures nor can they speak, and they have violent tempers, large wings and breathe fire.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

_Eustace snorted and folded his arms across his chest in a huff that was more show than any actual offense. _

_"Shhh!" ordered Lucy, Caspian, and Reepicheep. _

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

This new Dragon was nothing like that, and indeed I had never heard or seen tell of a dragon so small or as couth as this one. He had no wings, looking more like a snake with short legs and five-clawed feet that he used like hands. In his front right foot he carried a great pearl that was blue-black and luminous at once. A ruff of feathery red tendrils encircled his head and he sported a pair of short, blunt-tipped antlers, branching only once like those of a young stag. His snout was rather pug and wide, with large nostrils and long, trailing tendrils on either side of his nose like a moustache. His scales shimmered with every color so that at times he even appeared white, though he showed mostly green and yellow on his body, all the way to his long, red-tufted tail.

But what struck me most were the Dragon's eyes. They were very large and round and purple in color and the pupils were barred, like a goat's. Looking into those eyes, strange as they were, was like looking back over countless ages. He was at once very old and very wise and very powerful. In a way he put me in mind of Aslan, because just by looking into the depths of his eyes you could sense this Dragon was _good_ and would only use his strength to build and protect, not destroy.

Curling wisps of mist rose off his icy hide, enveloping him in a haze. Thick frost spread out along the railing 'neath his feet and from where I stood I could feel the cold radiating off of him. The Dragon stared at us with interest while we stared at him in speechless wonder. For the longest while no one moved or spoke, and then the Dragon bowed his head to Peter.

His motions were strange because he radiated so much energy that ghostly after-images followed behind him, lingering for a few seconds so that the only way you could see him clearly was when he was perfectly still. Peter, who much to Oreius' chagrin was the closest one to the Dragon, bowed very low in return, clearly as deeply impressed as I was by this Dragon's aura of majesty. Then those purple eyes searched the people assembled and stopped on Susan. Again, the Dragon bowed, and she curtsied in return. Then it was my turn, then Lucy's.

Peter spoke first. "In Aslan's name, be welcome to Narnia and Cair Paravel, good sir. I am King Peter. These are my sisters, Queen Susan and Queen Lucy, and this is my brother, King Edmund."

Slowly, regally, the Dragon bowed his head in acknowledgement of the salutation. He drew a deep breath, the motion scattering ice from his sides, and when he spoke his voice was as deep as it was ancient with a queer, echoing quality to it as if he spoke from the bottom of a well.

"From my home, from my Master, and from my Master's Son, I bring you greeting, O kings and queens of Narnia. Blessings upon you and your land, and may you serve as you have been served. I am named Dawn Treader. I am called the Sky Walker, the Sun Grazer, and the Father of Storms. I command the air and from the void beyond the sky I watch over the worlds and make certain that what must be, will be."

"From whence do you journey, good Dawn Treader?" I asked, intrigued by every aspect of him.

Those purple eyes turned to me. "I come from Over Sea at the bidding of my Master's beloved Son. I bring you grave tidings, O Narnia."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

_"Over Sea?" demanded Eustace. "You said that before. What is it?" _

_I smiled, remembering. "Over Sea is the home of the Emperor." _

_Eustace shook his head, not comprehending, and Lucy took mercy upon him. _

_"The Emperor-Over-Sea is Aslan's father, Eustace. He is the one that set the boundaries of the Deep Magic." _

_"Emperor? Has he a name?" _

_My cousin's innocent question almost broke my heart and I closed my eyes against my tears and my memories. _

_"Yes," I finally managed to say, and no one dared question me further. Lucy handed me wine, and I took a deep drink and then a deep breath before I could go on. _


	3. Eclipse

**Part Three: Eclipse**

"I bring you grave tidings, O Narnia."

I saw Peter brace himself, standing straighter as he faced the Dragon. He clearly anticipated terrible news and I felt myself imitate him. What news could be so dire that one such as this should act as messenger? "Are these tidings from Over Sea, good Dawn Treader?"

"Only in the sense that the source of these tidings has been felt there and elsewhere," said he.

I stepped forward into that biting aura of cold surrounding our guest. The frost at his feet was turning to milky white ice and spreading down the railing to the floor. "You came from the direction of Proxena," I said, searching for the heart of the matter.

Those purple eyes fixed upon me. "She is the reason I have been sent to Narnia."

"Pray explain, sir," Peter pressed. His voice, though steady, was anxious.

Dawn Treader drew another deep breath, ice crystals showering off his long, graceful body, and when in a blur of motion he shook his head, snow flew in all directions from his ruff. I don't think he found the warmth of summer very comfortable.

"The star, Proxena, is passing from this realm. She is dying."

We were silent, shocked by this news. No one had ever considered that the stars could die. It was unheard of, unthinkable . . . but clearly not impossible. A rill of confusion and surprise spread among those assembled.

"Dying?" gasped Susan, drawing a step nearer. "H-how? Why?"

The deep voice was distant and so very sad. Dawn Treader spoke slowly, as if he was reluctant to believe his own words. "Proxena is amongst the youngest of the stars. She was never as strong as her brothers and sisters. Always smaller, always weaker, she was brighter only because her mother the moon kept her close and under her watchful gaze. Still, Proxena has danced and sung with her siblings, exalting in the simple glory of existence, bringing the winds, giving beauty."

No one moved. Not a word was said. We were intent upon the Emperor's servant, as amazed at him as at what he was saying.

"And so in her joy, she has used up her life. She refused to give less than all despite the pleas of her father and mother. Proxena has exhausted her span, and so she will pass from this realm."

Peter glanced at the sky where Proxena should have been, but Dawn Treader was too brilliant to see past. "What will happen?"

The Dragon shifted. Ice shattered from around his feet as he rose up upon his back legs. His body stayed curved as he balanced atop the railing, like some gigantic snake, and it took several seconds for the after-images to fade before we could see him clearly. So cold was he that the air of the balcony was as biting as the most bitter winter night, and the flowering vines twisting through the railings were covered with frost. The pearl he clutched glowed as bright as the moon - a cool, blue-white color.

"I do not know," he admitted to Peter. He looked around at us all, and for all his power and wisdom and age, he was as helpless as we. "Such a thing has never happened before in Narnia."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

_"But stars burn for millions, maybe billions of years!" exclaimed Eustace, unable to contain the scientist within any longer. "You said the other day your reign was a thousand years after Narnia was created!" _

_"Stars are also monstrous balls of burning gas where we come from, cousin, not intelligent beings. You're not in Cambridgeshire any more." _

_Reepicheep listened to this confusing exchange and quietly scoffed at the notion of stars being anything other than a race unto themselves. He gave Eustace a gentle poke with his tiny paw and admonished, "It is not meet that you interrupt a story teller or a king. Shh!" _

_There was a muttering as the listening sailors agreed with the Mouse and a dozen or more voices added their own hisses for quiet. Outnumbered, Eustace settled down again. _

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

I remember that we were silent, waiting for Dawn Treader to continue. He was still, finally, his long tail hanging down for balance and a fog of frosty air forming around him, giving him his own cloud bank that rose up in ghostly, curling wisps.

"And so I have delivered my tidings," said he, "now I must discharge my duties. My master's son, the great Aslan" – and here he paused to bow deeply at the mention of the Lion's name – "has sent me to escort the moon to her daughter's side, that they might share these last moments of life."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

_"Hold on, Edmund!" ordered Eustace, his raised voice cutting through my tale and making almost everyone within earshot jump. "Stop right there!" _

I obeyed, waiting in expectation. Eustace was almost sputtering, poor chap. He glared at Reepicheep when the Mouse opened his mouth to tell him to shush again, as if daring the knight to interrupt. Wisely, the Mouse left this among cousins.

"You can't just snatch the moon away! What about the tides? Gravity? You can't stop the ocean!"

I felt a surge of affection for my poor, ignorant cousin - proof positive that miracles existed. He was trying so hard to comprehend and accept even though his knowledge of the physical world he had left didn't always apply to the world he was now occupying. Smiling, I held my hand up and he calmed a bit. That he was willing to listen spoke volumes of how far he had come these past few days.

"Let me finish, Eustace. That's exactly what happened."

"But -"

Finally it was my turn. "Shhh!" 

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

I knew a rush of uncertainty at his words. Would that not throw nature into chaos? Cheroom, standing close beside me, let out a gasp that was echoed by Oreius. The Centaurs understood quicker than any of this what this meant. Peter looked at them for clarification, but our guest from Over Sea explained instead.

"Until the moon returns to her place in the heavens and resumes her course along her path in the sky, she will not be seen or felt upon Narnia. There will be no tides, no moonlight, no phases of her countenance to tally the passage of days."

"Proxena?" asked Susan.

"Will not rise again," the Dragon finished.

"How long . . . ?"

"Days, perhaps hours remain to her, Gentle Queen."

Susan made a tiny sound of dismay. Lucy inched forward, though the palace guards didn't allow her to get as close to Dawn Treader as Peter and I. "Can't we . . . I mean, isn't there something we can do, Sir? Something?" she ended in a helpless whisper. "Anything?"

Peter spoke next. "My sister speaks for us all. Is there naught we can do for Proxena or her family? Speak! If it is within our powers, we shall do it."

Dawn Treader looked long and hard upon Narnia's High King, a gaze that was as intense as the waves of cold radiating from his form, and the pearl glowed brighter still. Peter matched the look, unafraid, his concern and offer genuine. A long moment passed as two strong and worthy wills met in silent communion. It seemed as if the Dragon was looking into Peter's very soul, and later on Peter told me he had exactly that sensation. Dawn Treader was _learning_ Peter, and through him, all of us.

"Aslan" – and here he bowed again – "has chosen well," Dawn Treader said, deep emotion and satisfaction in his tone. "I see now why the moon and sun are so fond of you four."

Peter started, released from whatever it was about the Emperor's servant that had held him transfixed, and he shivered with cold. I was at his side instantly, my feet slipping on the icy floor, and he seized me to keep me from falling even as I seized him to make certain he was well. He waved back any assistance, unharmed by the contact, and we steadied each other.

"Tell us what we can do," Peter insisted, seemingly unaware that his boots were freezing to the floor of the balcony right along with mine.

"You can mourn," said Dawn Treader. His tail lashed the air, crackling away a layer of ice. "Mourn for the loss of beauty in this world. For one less voice singing the glory of creation. For one less source of light. Mourn for a mother and father who are losing a beloved child. Mourn, O Narnia, your loss of something precious and irreplaceable, and remember. Remember Proxena, the moon's fair daughter."

"We shall," promised Peter. "All of Narnia will know and keep watch, good Dawn Treader, and we shall tell as much of the world as we are able of Proxena's life."

Dawn Treaded nodded in acknowledgement, and then he slowly looked to the moon hanging full and bright overhead. "Be not alarmed when I draw the veil of night across her brow and usher her from the sky. The stars will remain, and their dance will go on, the moon will return. And so I bid farewell to the kings and queens of Narnia. Blessings upon you and long may you reign."

"Blessings upon you and your voyage, Dawn Treader," said I. "You have our thanks for bringing us these tidings, sad though they are."

The Dragon actually gave me a faint smile: his eyes seemed to soften and the long, trailing tendrils curled up at the tips. "Love outlasts sadness, young king, and we each of us have our role in this great story that knows no end. Yours will be a glorious chapter indeed. And so, farewell."

In a shower of ice crystals and a blur of energy, he bowed very deeply. We bowed in return. When we looked up, Dawn Treader was already in the air. An aurora of purple and green spread across the sky for one moment, and then in a streak of burning white light as when the stars throw down their spears, he darted towards the moon and vanished from sight.

"Peter?" I wondered, completely numb with cold from the knees down.

He recognized my tone, and softly muttered, "No, Ed, I can't move my feet either."

No one else spoke. We watched, transfixed, and waited to see what would happen.

As gradually as the moon rises or sets, a shadow began to creep up the face of the moon. It started at the bottom as Dawn Treader slowly draped the shining orb in mourning robes. As darkness spread across the sky and the land I felt a tightness in my chest. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, for I had seen death many times and in many forms and I knew the pain was grief. Familiarity did not ease the sense of aching loss, and I was glad when Peter laid his hand on my shoulder.

Without looking away, my brother motioned for one of the guards. "Go roust the scribes and the couriers. We must get word across the land and to the merfolk. We will send word to Galma and Terabinthia, to King Lune and the Tisroc, to every land and island and people known. We will tell the whole world so they, too, can remember Proxena."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

_"So did they?" demanded Eustace. _

_I leaned back, resting my hand on the deck of the ship. "Ask Caspian." _

_Eustace looked to Narnia's present king. Caspian smiled and said, "I first learned the story of Proxena from my nurse, and Dr. Cornelius told me more, especially about Dawn Treader, though most of the finer details were lost to time. My uncle refused to believe that Narnia could ever have a lunar eclipse or Dragons and I knew better than to try to convince him." He grinned at Lucy and then at me. "I never thought to hear the story in full, let alone from eye witnesses. But yes, Eustace, they remembered. The whole world knows the name of Proxena." _

_A soft murmuring from the sailors and officers confirmed his words. Peter's promise had outdone the Telmarine invaders, which I knew would please him. _

_Eustace mulled Caspian's words over, fidgeting with one of the chess pieces. "But I can see why you named the ship _Dawn Treader _and not for Proxena." _

_"Dr. Cornelius thought I should name it after the star," admitted Caspian, "but I thought a ship built for exploring would do better to be named for another traveler." _

_Reepicheep was growing antsy. By the tilt of his whiskers and the twitching of his tail I knew he was anxious to hear the rest of the story. I caught Lucy's eye and she smiled at me as if to say I was quite the story teller after all. _

_  
"So," I said, capturing all attention again. "Messengers were sent far and wide, to the depths of the ocean to the Dancing Lawn, the Marches, the Lantern Waste, and every point between and beyond . . ." _


	4. Moon Rise

**Part Four: Moon Rise**

A/N: The poem Eustace recites was written by Francis Thompson. My thanks to Miniver for bringing it to my attention!

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Go roust the scribes and the couriers. We must get word across the land and to the Merfolk. We will send word to Galma and Terebinthia, to King Lune and the Tisroc, to every land and island and people known. We will tell the whole world so they, too, can remember Proxena."

As Peter spoke a deeper darkness fell and the night completely enveloped the moon: Dawn Treader was escorting her to the rim of the sky, to the side of her dying daughter. I couldn't help but wonder, then, if the sun would rise on the morrow. I could not see to blame him if he did not, but I wondered what that would mean for the world.

Except for Lucy, who fell asleep early in the morn, we stayed up all night composing our message to Narnia. I think Peter and Susan were wondering the same thing as I, because we all sighed in relief to see a glimmer of light on the horizon. The sun did rise, and through the cloudy haze enveloping the day we could see his fiery hounds and their pup at his side. The Sun Dogs were not hunting that day. Rather, they were keeping their master company. I was not the first to notice them, to my relief. Revelations I did not need at the moment.

Messengers were sent far and wide, to the depths of the ocean to the Dancing Lawn, the Marches, the Lantern Waste, and every point between and beyond. Bats, Birds, Gryphons, Dogs and Horses and Centaurs - they raced across Narnia, spreading the news of what had happened and what would happen in the near future. Everyone who heard the tale of Dawn Treader and Proxena was charged by royal decree to spread the word. The Naiads told the Merfolk, who told the ocean, who told the deeps. A strange sense of sadness and waiting spread over Narnia, as if the very land was holding its breath, and we scanned the night skies for some sign of what was happening.

For two more nights there was no moon and no Proxena, no tides, no wind, no way to tell days were passing save by the rising of the sun. We received word from a grateful King Lune, thanking us for the story behind the events that had so disturbed his kingdom. He sent promise that our message to the Tisroc would be halfway to his summer retreat in Mezreel by the time our courier returned from Archenland. Duke Banet of Galma and Lord Maturin of Terebinthia sent word back by the Gryphon couriers that they would notify the rest of Narnia's island provinces as soon as their ships could sail again.

On the third night since Dawn Treader's departure, we gathered again, as we had the past few nights, on the garden balcony overlooking the Eastern Sea to watch the night and to sit vigil with all the heavens and the earth. I noticed that the Centaurs in particular were very anxious, and I suspected that they sensed what we could not: that the end was upon Proxena.

"I wonder what they'll think in Calormen," whispered Susan, coming to stand beside me and the Centaurs.

"There are great astronomers and astrologers and scholars in the universities of Calormen, my queen," Minovin, the court recorder, answered. "They will feel the loss as keenly as we, though they may not understand it as well."

Minovin was already writing a history of the event, carefully reconstructing every word and moment of Dawn Treader's visit. I knew that many poets here at the Cair and scattered across Narnia and beyond were poised to see how Proxena's story would end, anxious to capture in words the tragic beauty of her passing.

Peter joined us by the low railing. The flowering vines were gone, killed by Dawn Treader's frost, and their absence gave us more room to sit and watch. He made room for Lucy as she wriggled in to settle down beside me. "I can't help but wonder -**"**

I never did find out what Peter was wondering at that moment, because just then a gasp rose up.

"Look!" cried Cheroom, pointing.

We hastened to stand, our eyes trained on the horizon.

A burst of light, as large as the sun, blinding white and gloriously beautiful, filled the sky. So bright was it that shadows were cast behind us. It burned on and on, painfully brilliant, drowning out the stars and casting the sky around it into an odd, indigo-blue color. For a minute or more we stood riveted, enraptured at an end at once so splendid and so sorrowful.

And then . . . it was gone. The darkness swept in and swallowed the light. We stared, blinking to clear our vision, slowly realizing that Proxena had passed from this realm. She had gone from life as she had entered it: with love and with a song of joy and praise.

I stepped back, bumping into Susan. I felt her hand seek mine and I held on tightly, pulling Lucy in closer at the same time. When I finally opened my eyes, I had tears on my cheeks. No one was dry-eyed, though I wasn't sure if our tears were as much from the nova as from heartache.

From behind me I felt a strong, warm presence as Peter rested his head atop mine and enveloped us in his embrace, holding us tight and secure. We were silent, remembering, grieving for a mother and father and for all the world.

Then a deep, low voice began to intone a humming, wordless lament. Oreius. The other Centaurs joined in, their voices blending as they poured forth their pain. I had heard this song before, at the end of battle. It was their means of honoring the dead, and now, as then, it brought immense comfort to me.

More songs rose up, some near, some far, from many throats and many species. Wolves let out their long, lonely howls, and the Dogs answered with a chorus of their own. I could hear the Apes and their kin shout out their pain to the night. The Dryads in their trees rustled their leaves as they bid farewell to the star. Far below in the ocean's stream, the Merfolk's eerie voices rose up in a haunting dirge that blended with the Centaurs' song. Somewhere in Cair Paravel, a harp was being played along with them. It continued even after all the voices fell silent. No one moved, no one spoke. We just stood and listened to a melody so achingly beautiful that it was almost painful to hear.

And so we grieved, and so we remembered.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"And all of Narnia, perhaps even all the world, mourned for Proxena, the moon's fair daughter . . ." My voice trailed away as I remembered the loss and sadness and beauty of that moment. From her seat Lucy leaned over and touched my arm, no less moved than I at the memory of that glorious end. Reepicheep sniffed and with a shuddering breath turned his face away, trying to collect himself and his emotions. The _Dawn_ _Treader_'s officers and sailors were still as they contemplated this tale. Not a one of us could bring ourselves to break the hush that fell. Even the breeze had slacked off as a sliver of silvery moon started to climb up the heavens. Luckily Eustace caused a distraction just then by looking very thoughtful. For a long span he was quiet, sitting braced against a coil of rope with his legs extended, plainly trying to recall something to mind. Finally he began in a hesitant voice:

"All things  
_Near or far -_ No, no wait, that's wrong. Hold on. I know this." He frowned, drew a deep breath and began again, speaking slowly as he picked the words of a poem from his memory. 

_"All things  
by immortal power  
near or far  
To each other  
_secret . . . no, no_, hiddenly linked are.  
That thou canst not stir a flower  
without troubling a star."  
_

We stared in open astonishment to hear poetry from Eustace Clarence Scrubb. Suddenly self-conscious, he blushed at our gaping attention and said, "We had to memorize a poem for one of my classes. It was the shortest one in the book."

"Short it may be, but it is most profound and fitting," answered Caspian. He looked to me. "Have there been other such passings?"

"None that I know of," I replied. "I don't think so."

Reepicheep turned back to face us. "I apologize to Your Majesties for my outburst."

I smiled at him. "There is no shame in showing deep emotions, good Mouse. I have seen the greatest of knights and kings weep for joy or grief and on occasion I have joined them. Do not apologize."

The Mouse bowed and then looked to Eustace. "Would you repeat your song?"

Surprised and pleased, Eustace repeated the poem for the Mouse, this time without stumbling. Reepicheep stared at him, drinking in every word, his whole body taut with excitement. Closing his eyes, he drew a deep breath and then slowly released it.

"There is a mighty lesson here," declared Reepicheep, strong feeling still evident in his voice. He spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. "No mountain is more important than a grain of sand, and the earth is as deep as the sky is vast. No thing in great Aslan's creation is so small as to be insignificant."

"Not even a Mouse," finished Caspian, fondly teasing his friend.

"Especially not the Mice," Lucy replied, reminding me that she had been present at the moment when Aslan had granted Reepicheep's race the gift of speech. The tiny knight bowed his thanks to my sister, taking her hand in his small paws to kiss it.

Eustace leaned his head back, gazing up at the starry sky. I slid over beside him. Taking advantage of his good mood, I brought him deeper into this my home. I pointed to the heavens. "That's the Spear Head, Narnia's version of the North Star. And to the right of him, do you see that small spray like a veil? That's a group of about twenty faint stars called the Little Sisters."

"What's that one, that brilliant one?" asked Eustace.

"The Cat's Eye. That's part of the constellation the Leopard."

He stared, absorbing the astronomy lesson, absorbing . . . Narnia. I knew exactly what he was feeling. I had been there myself once upon a time.

"Do you think they can hear us?" he wondered in hushed tones, gazing upwards at the stars.

"Yes," I said just as softly. "We're part of their song."

_Fin_


End file.
